


vein by vein

by deathsweetqueen



Series: Tony Stark Bingo 2019: Round 2 [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bitter Tony Stark, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), F/M, Hurt Wanda Maximoff, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Wanda Maximoff Critical, Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug, wanda slowly redeems herself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 18:40:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17667995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathsweetqueen/pseuds/deathsweetqueen
Summary: “What the hell’s going on here?” Tony demands, as he storms into the common room of the compound.Clint crosses his arms over his chest, shouldering Wanda, who curls in on herself, towards Steve, who wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders.He barely resists the urge to give them a look of disgust.“These fine young men are trying to take Wanda away.”“What?” Tony’s brow furrows. “Why?” he looks at the suited men expectantly.The man in front exchanges an uncertain look with his companion.“Mr Stark, look, we’re very sorry about this, but our superiors were very clear. Ms Maximoff has to be brought in for questioning regarding her involvement with HYDRA and Ultron. There’s no other way this happens,” the man explains, tentatively.“Look, Agent… Michaelson, is it?” Tony peers at the identification badge that the man promptly flashes at him. “I understand that you’re only doing your job, and great job, but, uh, that’s not going to happen. You can push it, but it’s not gonna end well for you guys. It might be better if you just went home,” he says, firmly.Written for the "Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch" square (A3) for the Tony Stark Bingo 2019.





	vein by vein

**Author's Note:**

> As I said in the summary, this was written for the "Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch" square.
> 
> I wanted to thank Runa and Faustess for helping me brainstorm this ages ago. 
> 
> Btw, this fic does involve Tony finding out about his parents, and the fact that Steve (and Natasha, as far as I'm concerned) knew about it for years without telling him. So, if the idea of Steve and Natasha being portrayed negatively for this particular issue is upsetting for you, fair warning.
> 
> The title for this fic comes from one of Margaret Atwood's poem.

“What the hell’s going on here?” Tony demands, as he storms into the common room of the compound.

Clint crosses his arms over his chest, shouldering Wanda, who curls in on herself, towards Steve, who wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders.

He barely resists the urge to give them a look of disgust.

“These fine young men are trying to take Wanda away.”

“What?” Tony’s brow furrows. “Why?” he looks at the suited men expectantly.

The man in front exchanges an uncertain look with his companion.

“Mr Stark, look, we’re very sorry about this, but our superiors were very clear. Ms Maximoff has to be brought in for questioning regarding her involvement with HYDRA and Ultron. There’s no other way this happens,” the man explains, tentatively.

“Look, Agent… Michaelson, is it?” Tony peers at the identification badge that the man promptly flashes at him. “I understand that you’re only doing your job, and great job, but, uh, that’s not going to happen. You can push it, but it’s not gonna end well for you guys. It might be better if you just went home,” he says, firmly.

“Mr Stark-” Agent Michaelson protests.

“Look, guys, I can call my lawyers and turn this into a huge _thing_ , but I don’t really want to, and I don’t think you want me to either, so please, just go. You’re not touching her, not if I, and the billions of dollars I have in my various bank accounts, have anything to say about it, not to mention my cool, weaponised suit of armour pretty much guarantees I always have something to say about everything.”

Agent Michaelson’s features tighten. “This isn’t smart, Mr Stark. The FBI can make life very difficult for you.”

“Yeah,” Tony snorts. “I’ve heard that before. Now, get the fuck off my property.”

Agent Michaelson scowls, but him and his partner quietly leave.

“FRIDAY?”

“They’re gone, boss,” FRIDAY reassures.

“Cool.” Tony turns to the rest of the Avengers ( _not Bruce_ , Tony thinks with a pang). “Any other messes I need to clean up?” he asks, not so kindly.

He’s a petty bitch like that.

“Not yet, but we’ll keep you posted,” Natasha says, dryly.

“Awesomesauce.”

“Thanks a lot, Tony,” Steve says, gratefully.

“No. No. Don’t thank me,” Tony says, coldly, rocking back on his feet. “I think they’re were doing the right thing.”

Clint glares at him. “Tony,” he warns.

“She worked for a Nazi terrorist organisation and then joined a homicidal AI bent on destroying all of humanity,” Tony points out, slowly. “Did you think there’d be no consequences for any of that?”

He sees Wanda wince.

“You didn’t,” Clint mutters under his breath.

“Oh, fuck off, Barton.” Tony scowls. “There was a fucking inquest into what happened with Ultron and I was fucking cleared, so enough. Nazi Barbie over here, not so much.”

“Please don’t call me that,” Wanda says, quietly, looking down at her feet.

Something loosens in Tony’s chest, and he sighs. “Look, I’m sorry, but…”

“You think I should be going on trial, like you did,” Wanda finishes, solemnly. “I know. I think you’re right. They should have called me for the inquest as well.”

Their eyes meet and his lungs constrict, and he feels like she could pull apart his skin and bone and flesh and see all the hurt and anger and desperation and resolve he is on underneath and shape him into whatever she likes all over again.

Wanda flinches and looks away.

Neither of them has forgotten or will forget what happened in Novi Grad: what she did to him or what he did because of her.

That’s something they’ll both have to carry to their coffins.

“Wanda,” Steve begins, heavily. “You don’t have to-”

“Steve,” Natasha interjects, sternly. “Stop it.”

Natasha and Tony exchange a look. They’ve been the most vocal against Wanda’s introduction to the Avengers, considering Johannesburg and it’s far-reaching consequences, in the wake of Clint and Steve’s steadfast defence of a woman who climbed into their heads and tore them apart like cotton idea on a ship in the South African coast without so much as a _how do you do_.

Tony doesn’t know what anyone of his teammates saw; they aren’t close enough to sit down and have deep and meaningful conversations at the dinner table, like they were attempting to head towards before the Ultron disaster, but if Natasha’s haunted, numbed stare and the Hulk’s brutal, crimson-shadowed rage in Johannesburg is anything to go by, it wasn’t anything to brush under the carpet.

Natasha and him have shared a bottle of vodka between them and considered the Wanda problem in length, both of them understanding better than most of what it’s like to want a second chance, a do-over, a chance to redeem themselves, but somehow still struggling to lend the olive branch to the young woman, Bruce’s heavy shadow lingering between them. Beyond that, Natasha is yet to forgive the younger girl for whatever she saw.

Tony hasn’t asked and he doubts he ever will, but Natasha is one of his closest friends, and he remembers the way she looked on the Quinjet back from Johannesburg, how broken and open and fragile she was, and the hate comes so easily. He can’t help it.

“At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter how misled, how innocent she was,” Natasha begins, firmly. “She aided and abetted an international terrorist organisation that has Nazi origins, and she also helped a genocidal AI willing to bring the Apocalypse down on us. We’ve all paid our debt to society, in some way. Asking her to testify at an inquest is the least of her worries. Some of us have paid in more permanent ways.”

They all very stubbornly don’t look at the arc reactor that’s no longer in Tony’s chest.

He leans in. “Nice use of imagery.”

Natasha taps her fist against his. “I’ve got your back.”

Clint narrows his eyes at the two of them. “You two have become surprisingly buddy-buddy.”

Natasha shrugs. “I know how to keep my sugar daddy happy.”

Tony snorts. “You wish you had access to this arse, Romanoff.”

Steve grimaces. “Can we not, please? We’re talking about something serious here.”

“Look, what do you want me to say? You think the FBI’s the only one who’s going to be after her? Keep dreaming. The CIA, Bureau of Diplomatic Security, the Pentagon Police, the Marshals Service, Immigration and Customs Enforcement. And those are just the American ones, not even counting the rest of the world who’s looking at us with one hell of a magnifying glass after Sokovia. So, yeah, there’s only so much I can do for her. I can put my lawyers on it, barricade her, if you want me to, but I can’t guarantee her safety. And thanks to you people, my head’ll roll with hers.”

“Tony, this isn’t about you,” Steve says, disapprovingly.

“Oh, no, this is where you’re wrong, Cap. The second I signed a piece of paper for her visa application saying that I was responsible for her, this became very much about the _two_ of us. So, yeah, this is about me,” Tony snaps. “If people find about the shit I’ve hidden about her from the authorities, we’ll all go down. Don’t worry about it.”

“Stark, she’s just a kid,” Clint snaps.

“Uh, no, she’s twenty-three. That is most certainly not a kid. She was already a badass secret agent when she was 23.” Tony points to Natasha. “And I was CEO of a multimillion-dollar company. So, no, she isn’t a kid, and she isn’t _your_ kid. So, for fuck’s sake, stop coddling her.”

Clint’s face goes red. “Stark, you-”

“He’s right,” Wanda interjects, levelling a careful, weighty look at Tony that makes him involuntarily tense up.

Her face softens with hurt, like she can’t believe he would ever react like that to her, and that’s laughable, considering everything she’s done and everything she’s capable of.

Wanda takes a deep breath, turning to Clint and Steve. “He’s right. You can’t keep coddling me. I’m not a child, and I’ve made mistakes. Terrible mistakes that had terrible consequences. You can’t protect me from them by attempting to wipe them away. They won’t go away so easily. I have not paid the price that I expected all my enemies to pay, even if I have become just as monstrous as they are,” she looks at Tony, then, through fine, dark eyelashes. “or how I imagined them to be.”

“Wanda, Tony just doesn’t understand-” Steve attempts to bargain.

“No, Steve,” Wanda shakes her head. “I think he does understand. More than most, actually.” She looks at Tony. “What do you want from me?” she asks, steadily.

Tony can’t help but sneer. “Nothing. I _want_ nothing from you.”

Wanda flinches, visibly.

“But need is whole different thing. You’re an Avenger now, because apparently, we’re letting ex-enemies join the team without a vote, even when they almost help destroy the world, chase away one team member and traumatise the other team members psychologically. Being an Avenger means we have to look a certain way to the public, especially after the shit-show that was SHIELDRA. Steve, I swear to God, if you open your mouth now, I will shove my foot so far up-”

“Tony,” Natasha says, sternly.

“Fine,” Tony huffs. “You have a shit reputation. The world knows you helped Ultron. They’re not happy. They don’t like it. They think you should be put on trial for crimes against humanity, and that’s not going to end well for any of us, least of all you.” He softens, despite everything inside him screaming as to the opposite. “I’m not going to _let_ them, but that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. You have to be on your best behaviour. Can you do that?”

Wanda nods, firmly, with her doe-eyes.

He eyes her suspiciously.

“Good,” he says, grudgingly.

* * *

Tony looks up when he hears footsteps.

Wanda hovers in the kitchen doorway. “I’m sorry,” she says, tentatively. “I thought everyone was asleep. I just came down to get some tea. I can come back later.”

“No,” he sighs, putting down the sheet of paper he was reading. “It’s okay. You don’t have to ask me for permission. This is your home now, Wanda. You can do as you like.” He pauses, realising that’s a dangerous thing to say. “Within reason.”

Wanda nods and pads towards the kitchen counter, pouring herself a mug full of boiling water and dropping in a tea bag. Tony notices it as one of Bruce’s favourite blends and grits his teeth, looking away.

 _You can’t keep blaming her. Bruce made his choice too_ , one voice reasonably says.

But the other has no mercy for Wanda: _she didn’t help things; he was afraid of her; she ran him out of his home._

“May I sit?” Wanda gestures to the open seat opposite to him.

Tony bites his lip, but ultimately sighs. “Yeah, sure.”

Wanda slips onto the chair. “Thank you.”

Tony shrugs. “It’s your home too.”

“Why did you open your doors to me?” Wanda asks, curiously, as if she can’t quite figure him out. “You have no reason to be kind to me at all. None of you do.”

“By that logic, I should be expecting you to slit my throat while I sleep, considering you don’t really owe me any favours,” he says, casually.

Wanda flinches and grips the table. “I wouldn’t do that,” she insists.

“I don’t think either of us knows what we’re capable of anymore,” Tony scoffs.

Wanda bites her lip. “Maybe you are right.” She flattens her palms on the table. “But I want you to know that you have nothing to fear from me.”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes.” Wanda takes a deep breath. “I have spent thirteen years hating you, Mr Stark. I would like to stop now.”

“Tony,” he corrects with a grimace. “You can call me Tony.”

Wanda smiles, a little tentative, a little unsteady. “Tony,” she concedes. “But only if you call me Wanda.”

Tony inclines his head. “Wanda, then.”

* * *

“Here.” Tony abruptly drops a pile of red clothing down in front of her. “Try this.”

Wanda looks between the leather suit and Tony, her brow furrowed. “I don’t understand.”

“You’re having trouble controlling your powers, right?”

“Yes,” Wanda says, carefully, as if she hadn’t realised that he’d know anything about it, as if she hadn’t realised that he would concern himself with any part of her existence whatsoever. “But…”

“How did I know?” Tony guesses. He shrugs. “Natasha and I talk. She’s concerned.”

Wanda looks down. “She doesn’t like me very much.”

“You fucked with her head,” Tony points out.

Wanda licks her lips.

“You brought up some stuff, with a lot of us. She’s… still trying to come to terms with that. We all are.”

“And the scientist. I’m responsible for him leaving, aren’t I?” Wanda says, knowingly.

Tony narrows his eyes.

If she’s smug, he can’t tell.

“His name is Bruce,” Tony corrects, sharply. “And you’re partly the cause. There were other things going on. Bruce… Bruce is the type to hold a lot of guilt, and he doesn’t always like to face that guilt. What you made him do in Johannesburg didn’t help, but he also made his choice.” He sighs. “Look, you have Barton and Cap on your side. Wilson doesn’t know you from a hole in the wall. Vision seems to like you. All you gotta do is convince me, Tasha and Rhodey that you’re not gonna blow the place up, and you’re golden.”

“And how do I do that?” Wanda asks, curiously.

Tony shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know.” He frowns. “I didn’t exactly have a plan when it came to redeeming myself, honestly. It just came together. Hopefully, it’ll come together for you too.”

Wanda nods. She touches the leather. “Thank you for the suit. It looks very nice.”

“What problems are you having?”

It’s out of scientific curiosity, not for anything else; at least, that’s what he tells himself.

“With my powers, you mean?” Wanda clarifies.

Tony nods, cautiously.

Wanda shrugs. “I just can’t seem to get them to obey me properly. If I want them to do something, they either refuse or they do just the opposite,” she mutters, frustrated. “I’m not unaware that Natasha and Sam and Colonel Rhodes are unenhanced. If I lose control, I could hurt them.” She looks up at him with wide, doe eyes (he hasn’t quite figured out if she’s just a brilliant con artist or this is the real Wanda Maximoff: twenty-three and helpless and hurt and unyielding).

There are a thousand responses he could give her in this moment. He could say that he might be tempted to cut her lungs out of her chest if Rhodey became her unfortunate victim one day, but that might be too brutal and unfair for this conversation – she’s being uncharacteristically vulnerable, _with him of all people_ , today and he shouldn’t throw that back in her face. Then again, it’s just as likely that she’s fucking with him, either in some morbid revenge plan reboot (considering how the last one of hers went) or because she doesn’t know how to _not_ hate him – he knows how that goes too. 

Tony makes a face. “Well, considering you got them from a sentient stone from space, I wouldn’t be surprised that you were having problems,” he points out, taking a seat on the sofa opposite her.

If Pepper could see him now, he’d demand she give him points for being the mature one in these circumstances. That being said, she knows exactly what Wanda did to him and to everyone else in their team, and she’s been aching to lob one of her six-inch death traps at the newest addition to the Avengers and she’s faultlessly accurate with those things (he’s seen, not experienced first-hand).

Wanda smiles, just a slight quirk upwards to the curve of her mouth. “I suppose you have a point.” She looks down at her upturned palms. “But if I cannot figure out a way to control them, I will be of no use to anyone,” she grits out, as if it hurts to admit to weakness.

Tony knows exactly how she feels.

“You will,” he reassures. “Remember, you’ve only had them for a short time and even in that time, you’ve learnt a lot. It’ll all come to you.”

Wanda gives him a grateful look that simultaneously makes his heart seize and his lungs ache.

_You fucking moron._

“I don’t mean to question your skill,” she hesitates visibly, like she’s terribly afraid of offending him (which is strange, because she could throw him into a wall or turn him into a dull, empty husk for her use – why should she be afraid of _him_?). “But how will a new uniform help me control my powers?”

“There’s metal threaded into the polymer; it approximates a Faraday cage, which should help you control your powers, without risking the safety of the people around you.”

Wanda wrings her fingers together. “I just… I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she insists. “Not anymore.”

Tony doesn’t know what to say to that – he’s never been good at comforting people.

“Well, if you work hard at training, and listen to what Natasha says, because she does know what she’s talking about, you should be fine,” he says, a little awkwardly.

Wanda nods, firmly. “I have no other choice.”

* * *

“Tony, do you have-” Natasha pauses, narrowing her eyes. “What are you _doing_?” she demands.

Tony quickly shuts down the flickering image in front of him, the hologram dissolving into a flurry of stars.

“Nothing,” he says, defensively.

“Bullshit,” she declares, storming forward. “I saw that. It was Maximoff. What are you doing for her?”

“Nothing!”

“Tony,” Natasha warns.

“Hey, you were the one who was complaining that she couldn’t control her powers, right?” Tony points out. “I’m just devising a couple of algorithms. That’s all.”

“Yes, to vent, because I was frustrated. I didn’t think you’d take her under your wing,” she says, scathingly. “You were the last person who had their head screwed on tight and in the right direction where that girl was concerned, and even _you’re_ falling under her spell.”

“No one is falling under anyone’s spell,” he insists. “All I’m saying is that if we help her control her powers, then everyone benefits. And if I can help her, I’m going to help her, if it means preventing an inevitability where Rhodey or you get hurt because she’s struggling with everything.”

“Tony,” Natasha warns.

“Natasha,” Tony returns in the same belligerent tone.

“Just… be careful,” Natasha says, _sotto voce._

“I always am.”

* * *

“You don’t have to, you know,” Tony murmurs.

Vision shakes his head (after a lengthy discussion about human gender, and coming to the conclusion that he could be versatile with it, Vision had settled on identifying himself as non-binary, using male pronouns, but had left himself open to the possibility of fluidity, not willing to constrain himself when he was so new to this universe and still learning).

“No, no,” he reassures. “You will get more done if I join you. In addition, while we may have won in Sokovia, I am aware that people have lost a great deal there. If I can, I would like to make things better, since I am also indirectly responsible for their suffering.”

Tony’s chest hurts something fierce. In that moment, Vision sounds so much like JARVIS that he can’t bear it; he can’t bear remembering each and every morning, when his eyes open, that his greatest friend is dead, even if the remnants of JARVIS’ code are tied to this being in front of him.

JARVIS, _his_ JARVIS, is dead; there is no other word for it.

“Where are you going?” Wanda slips inside the common room, snatching up a book lying precariously on the edge of the coffee table.

“Sokovia,” Vision answers promptly.

Wanda stills and fear dusts her eyes. “Why-why are you going there?”

Vision looks at Tony for guidance.

Tony sighs and gives Wanda a needle-sharp look. “The Stark Relief Foundation is still working in Sokovia. I thought I’d go and take a look, see if I can help out or something. Vision offered to come with me.” 

Wanda’s face shutters close and she looks down at her feet. “Oh.”

Vision looks at him, expectantly, as if he expects Tony to now invite Wanda along just because she has a nasty habit of walking in on him at the most inopportune of moments.

How is it that a being of limited emotional understanding (considering he wasn’t actually older than a couple of months) had such brutal puppy-dog eyes?

He sighs and turns to look at Wanda, his pulse a heavy thud. “Would you like to join us?”

Wanda’s face betrays her surprise. “Are you…” she clears her throat. “Are you sure?” she asks, quietly, her eyelashes tracking over her eyelids. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t be intruding.” The words come out like seawater that chokes him and burns his lungs. “It’s your home. Out of all us, you should be involved.”

“For more than one reason,” Wanda says, bitterly.

“Okay, if you’re going to spend the entire time having a pity party, I’m vetoing you tagging along, got it, Raspberry Ripple?”

Wanda frowns. “Raspberry Ripple?”

“Yeah, you know, like the ice-cream flavour?”

“Why are you nicknaming me after an ice-cream flavour?”

“It’s supposed to…” he sighs, waving his hand. “Forget about it.”

He sees Wanda smile, as sweet as sugar, a brief, little thing that she hides just as quickly, and that loosens something in his chest.

“If we’re going, we’re going now,” he says, sternly, but the unbearably soft look remains on her face. “Go and get your shit.”

“Is it just the three of us?” Wanda asks, curiously.

“Yep,” he drawls.

“Steve and Natasha aren’t coming?” Wanda sounds confused by the idea of leaving them behind.

She hasn’t realised how things work yet; she hasn’t realised that Steve just does all the punching, but it’s Tony who puts everything back together again.

“Steve doesn’t really _do_ relief efforts,” Tony says, coldly, a familiar bitterness colouring his tone. “And Natasha’s on a mission for a dead man.”

“A dead man?” Wanda yelps.

“It’s a really fucking long story,” Tony dismisses, instantly. “I’ll tell it you on the Quinjet. But, for now, let’s go; time is money.”

Wanda gives him that little quirk to the edges of her mouth, like she finds him the most adorable thing she has ever seen in her short lifetime.

It makes his chest hurt.

“You already have plenty of that. You won’t perish if you go slow for once.”

“Honey,” he drawls, and he doesn’t understand why he chose to call her _honey_ of all things. “Trust me, I _will_ perish if I go slow. I’m like a shark; if I stop swimming, I’ll die.”

“Actually,” Vision promptly interjects. “There are only some species of sharks which need to swim constantly, due to obligate ram ventilation, where they ventilate their gills by swimming very fast with their mouths open.”

Tony and Wanda simply stare at him.

He pauses. “Upon reflection, it occurs to me that you may have been sarcastic.”

Tony pats him on the arm, kindly. “You’re getting better at that.”

Vision preens. “I’m improving,” he says, proudly.

Wanda grins, shamelessly. “You sure are!”

Tony sees the way that Wanda and Vision interact, both of them finding something in each other that they couldn’t have begun to find anywhere else. He wonders if that’s the Mind Stone, or something more honest.

He clears his throat. “I, uh, actually need to grab some things from in town, first. So, meet you two back here in like an hour?”

“Actually,” Wanda takes a bold step forward, tucking a stray red-velvet curl behind her ear. “Do you mind if I come with you? I need to grab some things from the general store.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say no, because they really shouldn’t be interacting more than they already are, considering everything they’ve done to each other and been to each other and how it’ll ruin their lives ( _her_ life, because she’s young and hers still stretches out in front of her like the brightest of beginnings; not like his) if some stupid pap gets a photo of them being out together and blows it out of proportion, like he’s some sugar daddy taking advantage of someone half his age, like he can’t keep his dick in his pants and he’s willing to succumb to the oldest cliché in the book, and she’s the gold-digging co-ed, sinking her claws into some rich bastard to pay her way through life.

Fuck, people are stupid.

He forgets sometimes.

He clears his throat. “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

Wanda lights up a bit, and she gives him a broad, toothy smile. “Great!”

Tony nods, a little stiffly. “Okay, let’s go. The sooner we get back, the better.”

* * *

“I don’t think I’ve been outside the compound since we came back from Sokovia,” Wanda muses, in a low tone, closing the passenger door to his car, once he parks just outside the store.

“Cap, Barton or Wilson haven’t taken you out yet?” Tony asks.

Wanda shakes his head. “No. I think they’ve been busy and well, no one’s offered.”

“You should go by yourself.”

When he doesn’t hear anything from her, he turns his head, only to find her staring at him, with her eyebrows somewhere around her hairline.

“And you’d feel comfortable with that?” she says, carefully.

Tony plays dumb. “With what?”

“With me going out in public, alone.”

“Wanda,” he sighs. “You’re not a prisoner here, okay.”

“Really?” Wanda says, bitterly. “Because I feel like one.”

“Look, some of us may not have been really welcoming when we got back from Sokovia, but there were reasons for that. I’m not going to apologise for being wary around you, just like you’re not going to apologise for avoiding me when you first moved to the compound, right?”

“I was just-” Wanda begins to explain.

“No,” Tony interjects, sharply. “Don’t apologise. We’re not apologising here. Let’s just agree that we both had our reasons, and leave it at that. Okay?”

Wanda nods, biting her lower lip.

“Come on,” he mutters.

He doesn’t know how it happens, but maybe it’s leftover from years of walking beside Pepper. He has his hand on the small of her back as they walk into the small general store, Wanda curling in against him, and he can feel her warmth pressed against his side, and for a moment, he forgets that even has lungs, the air catching somewhere in his ribcage.

“What do you need to get?” he asks in an attempt to draw attention away from how his heart beats like a jackhammer in his chest.

Wanda grimaces and looks away.

Tony frowns. “Okay, what was that look for?”

“It’s just…” Her ears go red. “What I want is not something that I can say out loud, to _you_ ,” she says, edgily.

Tony mulls it over for a moment, before his eyes widen and he looks down at his feet. “Oh. _Oh_. Yeah, that makes sense.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I can meet you at the counter if you don’t want me to come along with you?”

“Yes,” Wanda fakes a smile. “I think that would be best.”

Contrary to popular belief, he isn’t some moron who gets terrified of vaginas the second they aren’t a place for him to dip his cock in, and has on many occasions bought supplies for Pepper, long before their tumultuous, short-lived romantic relationship, when she was struggling and because period cramps are a pain that no one should ever bear. So, no, he isn’t embarrassed because of the prospect of menstruation, but because he knows this is a part of Wanda’s life he shouldn’t intrude into, not when they’re barely friends and barely speaking on good terms without a thick, cloying air of awkwardness.

Tony nods. “Great, I’ll, uh, I’ll see you there.”

He makes his way to the snack aisle, filling a basket with all the good chocolate he can see. He’s busy staring at racks, wondering who had the brilliant idea to put _fruit_ in chocolate, when he hears raised voices coming from a few aisles behind him.

“Please… please, just leave me alone,” he hears Wanda beg.

Tony frowns and abandons his chocolate perusal to join Wanda, where she’s facing off against a bulky man, with a full head of red hair and dark, beady eyes, wearing jeans and a simple T-shirt.

“What’s going on here?” he demands, not so kindly, promptly inserting himself between Wanda and the stranger. “Wanda, you okay?”

“I just…” Wanda trembles hard against his back, curled up against him so close that he can feel the rapid patter of her heart against the notches in his spine. “I don’t want to lose control.” Her voice comes out ugly and shrill. “I don’t want to hurt him. Please, Tony, please, get me out of here.”

The man’s eyes dawn with realisation. “You’re Tony Stark,” he says, almost in awe. Then, his face abruptly contorts with fury. “What are you doing with _her_?” he demands, like he’s staring at the fucking Antichrist.

“You don’t want to do this here, and you need to back off before one of us makes you. Understood?” Tony says, coldly.

“She’s a fucking terrorist,” the man argues. “She’s a Nazi bitch who destroyed an entire fucking city.”

Wanda flinches against his back.

Tony sighs. “Man, you are so far off that you’re in fucking Antarctica, right now. What did I just say? Back off. You don’t know shit about her. Let me be very clear, you talk about her like that again, in front of me, and we’re going to have a real problem.”

“Is she fucking with your head or something?”

“I would never-” Wanda says, hotly, and it falls flat because they both know she has.

They both know what she’s done, but the rest of the world doesn’t know that, and he will fight to the death to make sure no one finds out – if they did, the shit they spew in the tabloids will be basic compared to what they’ll do to her. They’ll drag her in front of everyone and burn her at the stake because that’s what fucked-up, insecure, xenophobic bastards do to people they perceive as evil.

“Just… don’t you have shit to do that doesn’t involve harassing women in stores?” Tony demands.

“She-”

“She didn’t do jack shit to you, man. Leave her alone, or I’ll make you.”

“You’re _defending_ this psycho cunt?” the man asks, incredulously.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony snarls, taking a step forward, his fist clenched. “Do you want me to fucking kill you? Shut the fuck up and get the fuck out of here, got it? Say one more word, and they’ll be cutting you out of the wall. Go. _Now_.”

The man opens his mouth, and he raises his eyebrow.

_Seriously? Move the fuck on, douchebag._

The man scowls at them and storms away, leaving them alone, but for the eyes of all the other patrons in the store, which are trained obsessively on them. He glares at the lot of them.

“What the hell are you people staring at?” he demands. “Don’t you have a life?” He turns to Wanda, his voice gentling. “Did you get everything you need?”

Wanda nods, stiffly, as if she’s barely keeping herself together.

“Good,” he mutters. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

He doesn’t know why he does it, but he grips her shoulder, when they approach the cashier, who looks away from them confused and wary, and Wanda flinches under his hand, like she can’t believe that people are looking at her like she’s some kind of monster.

They pay for their things and make their way back to his car, Wanda slipping inside the passenger seat without a single word. He sighs, looks up and the sky and wonders how he got to be in this position when he is the last person in the world to help anyone, let alone Wanda, out here.

Finally, he takes a deep breath and gets into the car, chancing a look at Wanda who hasn’t managed to drag her eyes away from the window, unseeing.

“I didn’t realise,” she says, suddenly, and breaks off halfway. “I didn’t… I mean, I knew that they wanted to arrest me. I knew they knew what I did, but I didn’t realise that they… _hated_ me.”

Tony sucks in a harsh breath, because what can he possibly say to that?

Wanda bites down on her lip raw. “I’m sorry.” She squeezes her thighs. “For what I did to you in that bunker. For what I did in Johannesburg. For what I did with Ultron and HYDRA. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she says, roughly, her voice wet, as she buries her face in her hands.

“You’re not the only one who made mistakes,” Tony says, carefully, placing a hand on her shoulder. “And you’re saying sorry now. _That_ matters.”

“I never said sorry before, did I?”

“No,” Tony says, carefully. “Or if you did, you didn’t say it to me.”

“Well, I am. I _am_ sorry.” Wanda rubs under her eyes.

“I’m sorry too,” he exhales.

Wanda looks at him in surprise.

“What? You thought I wasn’t capable of so much self-actualisation,” he says, dryly.

“Well…” Wanda clearly tries her hardest not to offend him.

“It took me a while, but I realised what I was doing by making weapons,” he murmurs. “And I realised how much shit that was going on behind my back that I should’ve known about, should’ve stopped earlier.” His hands shake, when he looks at her. “I’m sorry I stopped it so late. I’m sorry you and your brother suffered because I was so slow.”

Wanda looks away, her eyes suspiciously red. “Your parents… I read that they were killed in a car accident.”

Tony nods. “When I was 21. It was hell.”

“You loved them a lot.”

“My dad and I had issues,” Tony clarifies, cautiously. “But my mum… she was beautiful and kind, and I still miss her every fucking day.”

“I miss my mother too,” Wanda whispers. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I’m sorry for yours.” Tony runs a hand through his hair. “And I’m sorry I had any part in it.”

Wanda places a hand on his thigh. The warmth of her palm seeps right through the denim of his jeans, right into his skin, and it makes something crack open in his chest.

“You aren’t the monster I thought you were,” she says, solemnly. “And I’m sorry I inadvertently became _your_ monster.”

Tony shakes his head. “You only did what you thought was right,” he says, lamely.

“That’s an excuse,” she says, vehemently, cutting him off. “That’s… it doesn’t make it better. _It doesn’t_.”

“Maybe we’re just terrible people,” he offers, lamely.

Wanda laughs, abruptly. “Yes, maybe we are.”

“That dick shouldn’t have said all that shit to you,” he tells her, firmly. “Don’t listen to him, okay.”

“Easier said than done,” Wanda mutters.

Tony remembers newspapers that called him _merchant of death_ and _warmongering, capitalist monster_ and the nightmare of Obadiah looming over him, his heart in his hands, as he croons about how _this is your legacy, Tony_ and _weapons that will put the balance of power back in our hands_.

“I can’t promise you’ll be okay with what they say,” he says, tentatively. “I can promise you can work on it, and one day, you’ll be able to look yourself in the mirror and know you’re doing better, and those things that people say won’t be worth so much anymore.”

“Is that where you are now?” Wanda asks, curiously.

Tony shrugs. “I’m still trying.”

Wanda bites her lip. “Maybe we can try together,” she offers, in a low, rushed voice, like she’s so terrified of how he’ll react.

Tony smiles a little, a bare quirk of his mouth. “Maybe we can.”

* * *

“Boss?”

“Yeah, FRIDAY?” Tony says, vaguely, as his screwdriver punches down into the gauntlet’s innards.

“Ms Maximoff is approaching your workshop.”

Tony startles. “Huh?”

“Ms Maximoff is approaching your workshop,” FRIDAY repeats, carefully.

“But why?” Tony asks, confused, running a grease-stained hand through his hair.

“Reading minds is _her_ talent, boss,” FRIDAY says, snidely. “Not mine.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “You know, sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.”

“Then, I guess you’re just as stupid as I am.”

“Rude, FRI, rude.”

FRIDAY would’ve huffed if she could. “Shall I let her in, boss?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Wanda slips inside the glass doors like a wraith, planting herself against them, with a manila folder clutched between her hands.

“Hi, Wanda,” he says, carefully. “What’s up?”

Wanda bites down on her lip. “I need to tell you something.”

Tony frowns. “Okay,” he says, slowly. “What is it?”

Her grip on the folder tightens until her skin whiten and he can see the thin strands of muscle in her hands. She looks down at it, and her face turns terribly harsh, as if she’s steeling herself to do something terrible.

God, he hopes that she hasn’t decided to kill him again.

“Wanda?” he takes step closer, with clearly no self-preservation.

Wanda licks her lips and hands him the folder. “I’m sorry, Tony. I’m so sorry.”

Tony frowns and looks down at the folders she’s just shoved into his hands. He parts the cover and looks at the sheets of paper within. Slowly, he grows cold and his pulse is a heavy thud and there’s a foot permanently lodged in his ribs, the ache growing until it spirals into his fingertips and toes. He looks up, disbelievingly, but Wanda’s stern, pale face is enough for him to know that it’s true.

It’s all true.

“Oh,” he says, lamely. “I didn’t…”

_Fuck._

Much to his shame, tears sting his eyes.

“Shit,” he hisses and looks down.

Wanda takes a step forward. “Tony, I’d like to hug you, if I can,” she says, solemnly. “Is that alright?”

Tony nods, a little desperately, a little stiffly. “Yeah, uh, yeah, that sounds… good.”

Wand nods and approaches him like he’s a skittish kitten. She wraps her arms around him, tentatively, and he’s ashamed by how quickly he falls into the folds of her embrace, how starved he is for touch, how easily this breaks him, how he has to rely on her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he babbles, the words coming out like vomit even if he tries very hard to make them stop. “I shouldn’t… _fuck,_ I should be stronger than this.”

“No, no, you don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be,” Wanda says, earnestly, her nose jutting into his collarbone.

Tony clears his throat, pulling away but particularly aware that Wanda’s hands are still wrapped around his waist.

“How did you…” he shakes his head, his eyes heavy and still damp. He swallows hard. “How did you find out?”

“You told me before, remember, about your parents dying in a car accident,” Wanda says, quietly. “I talked to Vision about it; I hope you don’t mind, but he was telling me stories about you, when you were younger, with your parents and the first Jarvis and his wife. You’re like me,” she says, awed. “I didn’t think you’d be. When I thought about your face, I just thought you would be evil. But you’re not. _You’re not._ You’re just like me.”

She shakes her head, as if realising that she’d allowed herself to go off-topic.

“I was talking to Steve about it, and his reaction bothered me. So, I started looking into it.”

Tony frowns. “What are you talking about? What does Cap have to do with this?”

“Tony,” she clutches at his hand, her face cracking open. “Oh, Tony, he knew. He knew this whole time.”

White noise roars in his ears.

“What?” he doesn’t even hear himself say the word.

“He knew. He knew it was his friend who killed your parents. He’s known for two years.”

Tony pulls away from her like she’s made of poison and rounds on his feet, storming out of the workshop. He doesn’t quite know how he makes it from there to the common area, where Rogers is laughing and chatting with Clint, Natasha and Sam.

All he knows is the satisfaction when he throws the file in Rogers’ face, whose entire expression falls when he realises what Tony knows, and the lie he’s been caught in.

“Tony,” Rogers begins, hesitantly, shooting his friends a wary look.

“Two years,” Tony says, coldly. “You knew about this for two fucking years, and you didn’t say a fucking word to me.”

“I didn’t want to bring it up. You’d moved on; I didn’t want to bring it up, rehash things you didn’t want to bring up-”

“Fuck you, you miserable, sanctimonious piece of shit,” Tony snaps. “They’re my parents.”

“Howard was my friend too, Tony-”

“You knew him for two fucking years; he was my _father_ , and my _mother_ was in the same goddamn car. Don’t you fucking dare preach to me.”

“Maybe we should all calm down.” Sam takes a step forward, holding his hands up as if he’d like to ease the situation.

“Fuck off, Wilson. You have nothing to do with this,” Tony snaps.

“Tony,” Natasha takes a cautious step towards him.

“Did _you_ know?” he demands, rounding on her.

Her face betrays her guilt.

He shakes his head. How many times does he have to be stabbed in the back before he stops falling for the same tricks, over and over again?

“Of course, you knew,” he says, bitterly. “Okay, cool. This is what we’re going to do. Get the fuck out of my house, Rogers,” he spits.

“Tony-”

All of them collectively begin in a commiserating tone, like he’s some child that needs to be coddled and petted until he comes to some great defining conclusion on his own, like his reaction to throwing Rogers and Romanoff, who kept the secret of his parents’ death from him for two fucking years while sitting in his house and eating his food and spending his money like the most expensive gold-diggers he’s ever come across, is completely and utterly unreasonable.

Well, fuck that.

“This isn’t really up for debate,” he says, slowly. “Get the fuck out of my house. You too, Romanoff. You can find a new sugar daddy.”

Natasha’s face is pale, ashen-white, her eyes suspiciously red, but he can’t help but think it’s a con, just to get on his good side so he won’t put them out on the streets.

“Tony, please, I can explain-”

“I don’t want to hear explanations,” Tony interjects before she can say anything of value that would change his mind. “I just want you two off my goddamn property.”

For one in his fucking life, he’d like to be the petty one. Is that too much to ask?

“Just…” God, in that moment, he feels like he’s a good fifty years older than the forty-five he has down pat. “Just get out; I don’t feel like doing this with you guys now.”

“Stark-” Barton’s the last to try and assuage the situation.

“Do I have to start listing my demands in every fucking language I know?” Tony demands. “Jesus Christ. _Get out_.” He takes a shaky step back. “FRI, if they’re not gone by midnight, let me know.”

“Will do, boss.” FRIDAY’s voice is as cold as ice.

He storms out of the common area, back to his workshop, buries himself in a total blackout and tries to forget that last warm touch of his mother kissing him on the forehead before she leaves with his father to be murdered.

It doesn’t work.

* * *

Wanda finds him two days later, in the dead of night, cooking up a grilled cheese for himself, after fifty-six hours without a proper meal.

“You can come in,” he sighs, hearing her linger in the doorway. “I’m not going to freak and blow up the kitchen.”

“Actually, between the two of us, I think _I’m_ more likely to do that than you.”

When he turns around, there’s a small, tentative smile lurking on her face, as if she’s uncertain if it’ll be welcome. Despite himself, he finds himself huffing out a laugh.

“Do you want one?” he asks, gesturing to the sizzling pan.

Ana always used to make grilled cheese on the stove.

Wanda shakes her head. “I’m not hungry.” She takes a seat at the table. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

Tony tenses. “I’m fine.” He gives her a faux, press-esque smile.

“No,” Wanda exhales, her entire face so soft and understanding and _knowing_. “No, you’re not.”

Tony leans back against the counter, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah,” he says, exhausted. “Yeah, I’m not.”

She’s probably the last person he should be spilling his guts to, but he just needs to say this to _someone_. Rhodey isn’t around, out on a mission; Pepper is Malibu and Happy’s right there with her; Vision has only recently started to emote; Bruce is nowhere to be found, and he refuses to even _think_ about Natasha; so, Wanda, a woman who reached into his head and made him see death and rot and ruin that’ll be with him until he’s put into the ground, is all he has left.

Isn’t that a miserable definition of his existence?

“What are you going to do?” she asks, quietly.

Tony looks at her carefully. “If you’re here to advocate for Rogers and Romanoff, don’t waste your breath,” he warns.

He’s not up for another rendition of _they had their reasons, Tony_ and _I know you’re mad, but don’t you think you’re being a little petty?_

Wanda immediately shakes her head. “No. No, I _wouldn’t_ ,” she says, vehemently. She swallows hard. “Parents… parents are sacred. What Steve did…” she grits her teeth. “I would’ve done worse than just throwing him out. I _have_ done worse.” She looks down at her upturned palms. “But I’m supposed to do better now, so maybe I shouldn’t be talking like that.”

Tony snorts. “Occasional violent thoughts are a prerequisite for human existence. I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you.”

Wanda cracks a smile. “I hope you’re right,” she says, softly.

Tony runs his hands over the neat tablecloth. “I’ve made a decision,” he declares, clearing his throat.

“Oh?” Wanda says, softly, careful to not push him into anything.

“I want to find him,” Tony explains, slowly, curling his tongue around the words carefully, just to test them out into the world for himself. “Barnes, I mean. I want to find Barnes.”

Wanda’s eyes flicker with surprise. Clearly, her promise not to reach out into his head and pick out whatever she’d like to know was holding strong.

“Can I ask why you want to find him?”

“Not to kill him,” he says, sternly, his voice sharp, like flinders (he hasn’t forgotten how they met). “I just… I want to find him. I want to fix him. Is that… bad?”

Wanda shrugs. “Better than anything I did,” she reminds him, dryly.

Tony snorts. “Good point.” He taps a confusing rhythm on the tabletop. “I’m going to ask you something and it’s going to sound a little weird, but feel free to say no, of course.”

Wanda’s face flickers with amusement. “What are you going to ask me?”

His eyes, unhelpfully, are drawn to the arch of her fine, straight nose and her lips coated in natural red, before he shakes his head, willing the image away.

Some things are not meant for him to touch.

“Will you come with me?” he swallows hard. “When I go get Barnes, I mean? Will you come with me?”

Wanda smiles, apple-sweet and unbearably soft. “Of course, I will, Tony.”

* * *

When it all comes to a head, they’re in a motel room in the middle of Bucharest.

It’s like the plotline for a stupid rom-com.

There’s only one bed in the small room.

Tony wanted a big, expensive suite in the best hotel Bucharest has to offer, but that would only draw unwanted attention, and Tony doesn’t want _these_ comings-and-goings to be publicised anyway.

It might make his prey a little skittish.

One night, Tony and Wanda get into bed, fully-clothed, making sure to leave a considerable, defined space between their bodies.

“So, we should be able to corner Barnes tomorrow. If FRI’s correct, he usually makes his way to the market a couple of blocks over around 10am in the morning every day.”

“Are you sure he’ll react… _well_ … if we corner him like this, considering his background?” Wanda puts forward.

“He’ll freak out, I’m sure,” Tony agrees. “But I’m sure if we explain things to him, it’ll all work out.”

“Tony,” Wanda begins, tentatively.

Tony shuffles onto his side. “Wanda, sometimes you need to run before you walk,” he reassures.

Wanda stares at him for a moment. “Does that actually work?” she asks, suspiciously.

“It’s about 50-50 at this point,” Tony concedes, dryly.

Wanda laughs, high and sharp. “I adore you,” she says, suddenly, and then abruptly falls silent, freezing.

Time stops for a long, enduring second, and Tony is afraid to breathe.

Wanda’s eyes are wide and wet, like she would never have dreamed of saying those words aloud, like she never would have wanted to.

He understands.

“Well,” he swallows, as his composure slips, little by little. “That’s something, I guess,” he says, lamely.

“I’m sorry.” Wanda jack-knifes up in bed, the sheets rumpling around her waist. “I-I shouldn’t have said that. I’ll go-”

Tony wraps a long-fingered, elegant hand around Wanda’s wrist before she can hurtle off the bed.

“Don’t go,” he blurts out. “I don’t…” he hesitates. “I don’t want you to go.”

Wanda’s face flickers with surprise, before pink spills across her cheekbones, the colour of peach blossoms. “Are you sure?”

Tony thinks of everything they’ve been to each other, everything they’ve done to each other.

It feels sweeter and firmer and he likes it this way.

Tony reaches out and cups her face in his hand, thumb dragging over the curve of her cheek.

“I’m really sure,” he laughs, the sound coming out happy and honest and shuddering, like he never thought himself capable of this kind of feeling.

Wanda breaks out into a broad, toothy grin, and she doesn’t hesitate to press her mouth against his, surging against him. Tony moans and pulls her in close, tracing the curve of her spine with the barest touch of his fingertips.

Reality crashes down on him and he pulls away, with a muffled voice, remembering how his lungs work.

“Are you sure about this?” he asks, carefully.

Wanda blinks.

“You’re young, Wanda. You have your entire life ahead of you. Tying yourself to me, forty-five and fucked-up in the head, well, it may not end well for you.”

Wanda sinks her teeth into her lip.

“If you’re worried about anything, I promise, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you; I wouldn’t let anyone _hurt_ you,” he says, quickly.

There’s always something people want from him, after all, and protection, he easily offers.

“Tony,” Wanda begins, in a low, rushed voice, like she can’t even believe he’s bringing this up. “I don’t want anything from you _but you_. Not safety, not money, not equipment. Just _you_. Do you believe me?”

Tony thinks it over, thinks over everything he knows about her and him and the two of them together, and decides that she’s telling the truth. He knows Wanda Maximoff and the woman has too much pride and not enough patience to curl up to him in a motel room in the middle of Bucharest and play-pretend at lovesick farm girl for him.

Wanda Maximoff is a hungry, haunted thing, and if she’s in this bed with him and saying the things she’s saying, she wants this with him.

And even though it probably makes him the dumbest being on this planet, he wants it too.

“I do,” he confesses, running a hand through his hair just to loosen some of that shuddering stillness in the air that makes him uncomfortable.

Wanda gives him a beautiful, lazy grin and crawls into his lap, straddling his thighs, and wraps her lean hands around his jaw, thumbing the dark bruises under his eyes. She leans in and presses their mouths together, throwing her arms around his neck, her red hair spilling over them like a curtain, hiding them from the world.

Tony pulls away when the need to breathe becomes too much for him to bear, and looks up at her, vulnerable and open and hopeful.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asks, thumbing the little dip in his chin.

Now that he has one taste, he can’t seem to keep his hands off her.

“I don’t ever want this moment to stop,” she reassures, her eyes needle-sharp, holding him down like a butterfly tacked to a display case. “Do _you_ want this?”

As much as he’s been her nightmare, she’s been his.

That’s how fucked up they are.

“I can’t imagine wanting anything more.”

His heart pounds against his lungs, when she leans down to kiss every single one of his thoughts off his mouth. She’s warm and soft under his fingers, melting under his touch, her body curling into him like she belongs there, with him, against him. She touches him like she loves him, and it’s fucking stupid, but he can’t help but do the same.

But it feels _right_ , and that’s all that matters to him.


End file.
